


Finding your place

by ASOUEfan



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Canes, Character Insert, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Face Slapping, Kneeling, Non-Graphic Violence, Power Play, They get stronger, Venable/f!reader, Venables throws you a challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21889900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASOUEfan/pseuds/ASOUEfan
Summary: Wilhemina Venable has her own way of teaching the Greys and keeping them in line. Not everyone is cut out for it though, and when you intervene on another's punishment, Venables finds a more willing subject to distract herself with.
Relationships: Wilhemina Venable/Original Female Character(s), Wilhemina Venable/You, wilhemina venable/female reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 73





	Finding your place

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written character/reader fic before, so if there are are few missed yous/I's I apologise, I tried writing it 1st person POV first then editing it.

You push the metal trolley along the edge of the dining table a little further, laying out the cutlery and plates for breakfast, yawning bleary eyed to yourself. It didn't really feel like breakfast time, more like bedtime. Venables had called you again last night, with what was becoming increasing frequency. You didn't understand what she wanted, what you had done wrong _or right_ to be given extra duties - and it wasn’t as if your usual duties went away either.

The table still had to be laid, the laundry still had to be done, the cleaning was never ending. Did she think not sleeping was a gift? It seemed she functioned on very little sleep, which could account for her teeth grindingly mean spirited demeanour. Or did she simply like watching how much you could take until you cracked? You pushed the trolley along again, and laid out the next place setting.

Mallory wandered in her usual lacklustre pace, perking up when she saw you, and hurried over. “Hey, there you are. You didn't come to bed last night.” She had the glasses and napkins to accompany your cutlery and plates.

“Don’t I know it. I’m so tired its unreal,” You complain, realising you had done the last two place settings with the knives and forks the wrong way around. You sigh, and retrace your steps righting them. A slip like that would not go unnoticed by Miss Venables.

Mallory followed down the table setting out champagne flutes, her voice hushed. “What happened, where were you? We all thought …,” Her eyes darted out of the room hearing footsteps, but it was another Grey lighting the candle votives that had gone out overnight.

“Venables happened.”

Mallory rolled her eyes behind her glasses. “What did she want this time?”

You flap your hands at your sides defeatedly. “Literally, nothing. I stood there the entire night with a serving tray, every so often refilling her glass of water. Like she couldn't do that herself?” The tiredness was making your tongue flippant and snark comments rolled off it in an unsafe fashion. If anyone over heard a comment like that, you were sure it would get back to Venables.

“Seriously?” Mallory shook her head in disbelief.

“I swear I fell asleep standing up at one point.”

“Did she say anything?” Mallory rubbed one of the glasses with a soft cloth, holding it up to the flickering fire light to make sure there were no finger marks or stains. You all knew the standards Venables expected. The sounds of movement on the upstairs balcony caused you both to lower your voices, the Purples starting to emerge from their bedrooms for breakfast.

Brushing back loose strands of hair, you knew you should really re-do the top bun she made you all wear, but didn't really having the energy or wherewithal to be bothered. You shake your head. “Not much. She read a book, mostly. Tapped her glass when she wanted a refill, snapped something when I didn't jump to it,” You huff despondently. You stood at the head of the table next to Venables chair, surveying the table from what would be her vantage point, to check if anything was out of place. If there was, she would be sure to pick up on it.

“There must be something to it, she wouldn’t be purposely sleep depriving you for no reason,” Mallory argued trying to find some purpose behind the opaque actions of Miss Venables.

“Ssshh…,” You touch Mallory’s arm and put your finger to your ear, telling her to listen. There was a slow echoing clack, Miss Venables cane producing its own distinct noise as it clapped on the wooden floor every third step or so. It was unmistakable. Her eyes dart to you with a nod, and you both hurry to finish and take out serving trolleys out of the dining room. “I’ll get the cubes.”

“Okay, I’ll get the water pitchers.”

Retreating to the relative safety of the kitchens, you place the small plates of pre-cut cubes onto your trolley, thanking the other Grey that had plated them up ready. You all had certain duties, but tended to share them out as well, as doing the same thing for the rest of your lives would get a little boring.

There was 18 months of cubes, Venables had said - but you weren’t the only person that had lost track how long you had all been there so far. Besides which, you calculated that 18 months of cubes for a full Outpost would naturally go farther, now there were only half the number of Purples than there were bedrooms. Not counting the fair few Greys lost along the way. So the real length of time you could survive was likely to be much longer. Plus there was other facilities, surely? Some long term plan? Nuclear winter wouldn't blow away in 18 months.

You didn’t like thinking of the future, or much past _right now,_ and what had to be done. Wheeling the serving trolley back to the dining room, the rabbit warren of hallways now familiar and well tread, you check your posture and demeanour as you enter the dining room. The Purples were chit-chatting together, Venables already seated at the head of the table, her cane resting against her chair. Her hand almost never left it, even now. You parked your trolley, and started handing out the small plates that would sit on the larger dinner dishes already laid out. You wondered if this strict serving style was a way of Venables manipulating everyone into thinking they were eating more, using big plates and small plates -

“Careful, geez you almost knocked my hair,” Coco St Pierre gawked at you in horror. Your thoughts had clouded your mind and your concentration for a moment, knocking into her. Mr Gallant the hairdresser lowered his purple glasses, shaking his head at you mockingly.

“Sorry,” You mumble, your eyes darting immediately to Miss Venables, praying she hadn’t noticed. To your dismay, her glare was fixed squarely on you and your stumbling. The grip on the head of her cane tightened in displeasure. You could see the tension in her knuckles, in the corner of her mouth.

It made you squirm, knowing she had seen, that her banal extra duties were getting to you. She was winning, somehow, you just weren’t sure how. This vague game she was playing with you, with no real goal at the end of it.

For once you was thankful for the dim lighting, praying that it would hide your blushing. You had always been one of those annoying people that cared about doing a good job, doing something right, even if it was just a weekend job through college. So failing now, even a shadow of it, in front of Miss Venables was enough to set your bad mood for the morning.

“Obviously some of us need re-educating in how to safely serve food at mealtimes,” Coco jeered in her usual spouting fashion. “It cant be that hard.” She muttered to her neighbour with a roll of the eyes.

You finished handing out the cubes on this side of the dinner table, another attending Grey by the name of Maisy, taking the remaining plates from me for Stu, Andre and Miss Venables. She balanced the three plates handing them out, as you and Mallory went to take your places at the edges of the room, flanking Miss Venables either side fanning out along the wall.

Just as she came to the corner to place Miss Venables plate down in front of her, the girl somehow lost control of the plate, and instead of placing it down it escaped her grip and went crashing to the floor besides Miss Venables chair. The room quickly hushed, the Purples looking between each other and down at Miss Venable in a sudden, tense silence. “I’m sorry Miss Venable - “ She hastily apologised, dropping to a crouched position to collect the shards of shattered crockery into her hand. You fall out of line, stepping to help her, but Mallorys hand caught your elbow. She shook her head silently at you.

“Your incompetence is staggering,” Miss Venable snarled, pushing back her chair and kicking a few of the broken pieces of plate with the toe of her shoe. She waited only a few beats, before shaking her head and snapping her fingers at Maisy, as if losing patience. “Place your hands on the table.” She demanded, and drew a long breath, resting her hands atop her cane as if a solemn duty had fallen to her, that only she could perform.

“What?” Maisy’s voice quivered. “Why -“

She wasn’t allowed to finish questioning, for the leather fingerless glove of Miss Venables collided with the girls cheek as she abruptly backhanded her across the cheek. “Ms Meade.” Miss Venable said, her voice dropping to a low ominous tone. The ever-present Ms Meade and a second Guard she signalled marched over and around the table, each forcefully taking one of Maisy’s arms and pinning her hands to the table at the wrists.

“Mallory I cant just stand here - “ You whisper urgently.

“Don’t get involved.” Mallory warned. “It’ll be worse if you do.”

Maisy writhed and fought shaking her head fearfully, knowing something was coming, some horrific punishment for a casual mistake. This wasn’t just a slap across the cheek anymore. Miss Venables lifted her cane, slowly sliding her hands down the ebony shaft until she held it at the opposite end, the silver head now aloft a few feet.

“Jesus it was just an accident - “ Andre piped up. She was going to hit her with it. “Thats going to break her hand!”

“No offence Andre but it wasn’t your dinner she dropped on the floor, I would be mad too,” Coco scoffed.

Maisy bleated through tear strewn cheeks. “I’m sorry - Miss Venables please it was an accident - !”

Miss Venables was likely taking it too far, but she had her ways of making a point. Whether those methods were correct or not - you were hardly in a position to question. It could be any one of you that dropped that plate. You didn’t care what Mallory said, the girl was petrified. “Stop - !” You called desperately, breaking your silence finally and bolting forward from the line of silent Greys. “Don’t hurt her, it was an accident.” You didn't want it to sound like begging, but it needed to be firm, desperate enough she would pause.

Miss Venables lowered her cane slowly, turning with an incredulous, aghast expression. “I beg your pardon?”

“If you want to punish someone, punish me. I can still manage my duties - if you break her hand then you’re one Grey down until it heals. Thats 8-12 weeks minimum.” Your heart hammers from the adrenaline. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing but you were tired and not thinking, andyou were already picked on by her anyway. Better it be you.

The fire crackled, the only sound in the rooms utter silence. Everyone stares at you in alarm - was it their own guilt that they had sat back and done nothing, let Venables nearly maim the girl for a mistake that was haunting their faces?

Miss Venables narrowed her eyes just a touch, as if internally debating your argument. As she drew breath, her head tilted, swallowing her rancour at the interruption. She did so enjoy the terror in this Greys eyes, squirming fitfully in Miss Meades iron grip. But your argument was sound, and she knew it. “I will allow it.” With the merest gesture of her head, she told Meade to the let Maisy up.

Maisy scrambled to her feet and hurried away, shaking and taking your space in the line of Greys - one or two whom to their credit, now rallied around her making sure she was okay. She caught her breath and looked back at you, a silent plea of thanks from her eyes as you walk up to the dining table, and knelt down next to Venables thick woollen dress.

Her free hand was at her side, and with a clack of her cane on the floor pulled your attention to her. She pointed at the floor. You nod, understanding her instruction. It would be far less effort, and a much more accurate hit to do it like this than on the table. She wanted the maximum pain, with minimal exertion.

Looking up at her from this vantage point you felt inherently more vulnerable. What the fuck were you doing? You tried to steady your breathing, conceal the adrenaline - that fight or flight mechanism your body put you under when it was stressed. But the tightness in your chest didn't pool just from fear, it pitted between your legs and burned with an ache you would never admit to liking. As you stretch your hands forwards, you tilt your head up, and you could have sworn you saw a heat flare in Miss Venables eyes too.

You press your palms into the wood with as much concentration as you could muster, the clack of her cane directly beside you as she stepped herself into position. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt.” Her voice was thick and laden with spite, concealing the hitch in her breath.

Miss Venables lifted her cane, the room holding its breath as they watched the cruelty unfold, then gasping and shrieking in unison as Venables slammed the end of her cane down onto the back of your hand.

The pain was immediate, blinding and primal. You yanked your arm back reflexively as you cried out. “Fuck!” -but to your horror it then became apparent she hadn’t _just_ slammed the cane down, she was leaning on it, pinning your hand into the floor. You crumple forwards from your knees, groaning and falling forwards against her legs. You couldn't move away from it, only _toward_ the pain, your brain sparking in hollow desperation of finding a way to alleviate it.

“Why is it, none of you came to the first one’s aid, except this girl?” Miss Venables asked the room, gesturing toward me, curled at her feet. “Cowards,” Miss Venables spat the word, reproaching not just the Purples, but as she turned, she looked toward the Greys too. “All of you.”

Using her cane she sat slowly down into her chair, unbalancing you - only then did you realise how much you had been leaning against her, your forehead pressing into the heavy dark material swimming around her calves, the skirt of her dress. As the pressure from the cane slowly released off your hand you were able to snap it back to your chest, cradle it close, and hold yourself up on your other hand as you ground your teeth to control your reactions, only your breathing coming out as a whimper.

Taking her cane from where it had landed was a blessing - but also brought a second wave of pain that seared through your nerves. Your brain could now feel the evidence of which bones were broken, which tendons were stretched and snapped, where the blood leaked which would seen forming swollen bruises beneath your skin very soon. Like being stabbed with a knife you only know the damage when the knife is removed, and you can see clearly.

But nothing in your vision was clear, between tears and pain and confusion the world felt blurry, disorientating. You were knelt by her chair and unmoving, felt the floor reverberate as she clacked her cane on the floor, making you flinch. She ordered them to eat. “And someone bring me her ration of breakfast.”

Miss Venables turned her glance down to you; you could feel it the weight of her stare bearing down on you, somehow. The sensation compelled to you look up, and meeting her eyes you felt the wash of clarity coming from the corner of your eyes until all you could see was her, your peripheries gone. “You’ll find yours on the floor around you.”

You held her gaze as long as you could, her dark bottomless eyes boring down into your blue ones, and you felt yourself nodding, as if hypnotised. “Yes Miss Venable.”

In that moment you would have done any thing she asked of you.

She blinked away, and tapped her cane on the floor again. “Eat!” She ordered the Purples with greater menace, the table hastily erupting into a clatter of cutlery as they picked up their forks and knives obediently. A second cube was placed - thankfully successfully, in front of Miss Venable and after unfolding the napkin, smoothing it over her thigh - _why had you never noticed her do that before?_ She too began carving the little block into smaller bitesize pieces.

You stare at the napkin, at where her dress dipped between her thighs and followed them down, how her ankles crossed, how she had tied the laces on her boots tight, an unyielding pressure. Cradling your broken hand, your brain swam in these details, taking your away from the throbbing that cursed through your bones. She was human, like anyone else, and yet behaved like no-one you had ever met.

There was a quiet chatter whispering among the Purples, their food too quickly consumed. You distractedly collected the shards of bowl into a pile, leaving only the remnants of a jelly cube on the floor, knowing you would need to clean the floor before Venables stood again. You didn't want to imagine the punishment if she slipped and fell on a dirty floor.

Checking that Venables was busy eating, you turned toward the Greys at the back. Waving your good hand, you tried for Mallorys attention. “Mallory - I need a cloth,” You urge.

The time it took Mallory to whisper the request down the line of Greys to the end, for one to sneak away without being seen and to return again with the cloth, was long enough that most of the Purples had long since eaten their cube and were done with the pretence of this being a normal breakfast. Mallory tossed the cloth across to you, and you secretively wiped the floor as neatly as you could, folding up the mess into the cloth and tucked it under the table, behind the leg where it was out of the way and unlikely to be seen.

Miss Venable waved her hand, giving the Purples permission to leave the table. She waited, resting back and drinking the water - if thats what it was, and watched with disdain as each made artificial attempts at smiling at her in thanks for the meal. Their fakeness made her features twist, you could feel the ire radiating off her from this closeness. The grip on her cane tightened once more. It made your toes curl, and your hand throb.

It was only a foot or so from you, _the cane,_ and her chair mere inches from your knees for you had barely moved; but watching the way she pressed it in her palm, played with it, squeezed it and relaxed her grip again, you felt a heat wash over you that you had rarely felt. Was your heart rate getting faster, or your blood pressure rising? For the pain of your broken hand to peak a little when she played with the cane? You shake my head at yourself.

As the last Purple left the dining room, the other Greys left their silent waiting places to begin clearing the table and tidying up. Should you get up too? You glance around at everyone starting about their business, the trolley reappearing and used plates and dishes being loaded up onto it. As it passed by Miss Venables chair you manage to sneak the cloth of broken plate and cube remnants onto the bottom shelf of the trolley.

When no instructions from Venables came, you take the initiative. Needing to hang on the edge of the table, you pull yourself slowly to your feet, aware you would probably feel a little light headed to start with. “Where do you think you’re going?” Her pointed question pierced through the fog that muffled your brain, making you shake your head to shake the clouds away. You cleared your throat and found your bearings upright again, keeping your likely broken hand close to your body.

“I usually wipe the table, after clearing,” You answer lamely. Turning your attention down the table, someone was doing it already, assuming you weren’t able to with the injury.

Her cane hit the floor purposefully. The boy - Jack you think his name is, nodded quickly and left the cloth where it was, exiting the room without a word. He was the last to go, you realised, the room now empty and unmoving.

“Well…?” She spoke, her tone a little lighter from the intrigue. She seemed amused, waiting for something in particular to happen. She expected your promises of perfect abilities to fail spectacularly before her. You didn't want to give her the satisfaction of watching you struggle all over again.

You draw a breath and nod. “Yes Miss Venable.” You stalk down the table and pick up the cloth, beginning your usual routine of shifting the chairs, wiping a portion of table and pushing the chair under when you’re done, methodically making your way down the table.

“I’m curious,” Miss Venable asked, splitting the awkward disquiet. She played idly with her cane as she talked, running her teeth over her bottom lip. _Had she ever done that before?_ “Why martyr yourself, when that pathetic girl would likely not do the same for you?” Her face carried a thousand stories, ones you wanted to learn, were she to ever let you in. She had been let down in her life, more than once, hurt, _betrayed_.

You still felt the good in people, felt the moral obligations that came with being a good human being, things that she no longer struggled under. “I don’t like seeing people hurt,” You admit, finishing wiping the table and scooting the last crumbs into your bent and broken hand, emptying them onto the top plate of the pile that rested on the trolley.

Miss Venable pushed her chair back, standing with a momentary wobble before drawing herself tall, her posture straight as a broom. She tread the floor along the table, one hand safely on her cane keeping her pace, the other - her fingers dragging along the tabletop in a way that caught your eye in a strangely sensual sort of way. Her fingers were hypnotic, and you stared at them, their approach getting closer, and closer still until she was standing so close to you, you could feel her breath on your cheek, your face turned to the side. “But _you_ don't mind it,” She hummed, her perfect lipstick untainted by the dinner she had just eaten, not a hair out of place from the punishment she had just given you.

Her eyes travelled down to your lips, your neck, a sort of, assessment taking place inside her mind. You felt as if she was measuring you up for something, a task, the possibility of something more. “I can take it,” You swallow, your breath stumbling shakily from your lips. You knew the closeness of her was affecting you, and that she could see.

Miss Venables lifted her hand, and you jerked away, your shoulders tense and frozen as her fingers came up to you, brushed a lock of hair from your cheek behind your ear. Was it a twisted sort of affection? She had broken your hand and now - was being gentle? Or was it a statement, that your appearance was not up to par, you hadn’t redone your hair and were falling short of her standards. “I wonder, how _much_ you could take?” Miss Venable murmured, as though she was not meant to say so out loud. But the glide of her finger under your jaw was enough to ignite that fire ablaze in you you had felt just a _shadow_ of, when you had been on your knees at her side.

“I’d take however much you wanted to give me,” Your voice just shameful breaths, your lips parting heatedly as her finger reached your chin.

And like that, her touch was gone. The corner of her lips turned up into a little smirk, and she settled both her hands atop her cane as she stepped those few inches closer, leaning to whisper in your ear. “I doubt that.” It came as a challenge, her head turning at the last second, locking eyes with you.

That was it, you couldn't hold it. It was only a momentary falter at first, but you heard a click in her throat, a tight laugh she held inside. She was mocking you. You lowered your eyes and tried not to stare at her fingers on the head of the cane, your own hand fractured, fingers still and unable to move. You felt as if the light playing of her fingers on the silver birds head was just another tease, something she could do that you could not. “May I be excused, Miss Venables.” You breathe, “My duties - “

“Your duties are what I say they are,” She cuts in, her tongue rests on her lower lip. You stare at those lips, wondering what it would be like feel those dark rouged lips on your own. Or to run your fingertip along them, have her bite down on your finger.

“Yes, Miss Venable,” You stutter.

A breathy moan falls out of your chest as she starts to walk away, as if your whole being had been held in suspense when she was near. “Come, then.” She stopped, dipping her head just a little, not looking back for you, simply pausing. “Let’s see how long that misplaced confidence lasts.”

Her cane clacked as she strode a smooth, steady path. An invisible rope was tied around your waist, or so it felt, for you turned, stared after her and the way her hips swayed _oh so slowly_ , inviting you to fall in step behind her.

And you do.

Miss Venable hid her smile, keeping it only for herself. A few turns, hallways and stairs were taken before she halted. A long iron key unlocked the door to her bedroom suite, and once unlocked, her cape billowed softly as she turned to stare you down. She stood by the side of the open doorway as though it were a hell mouth waiting to swallow you up. Her features were motionless, still, totally unreadable until you stepped up to her, feeling the tug of curiosity that seeped from within Venables room and stuck its claws in you, making you turn your head to look inside.

Looking back at her silently, as if asking permission, she lifts her cane and blocks your way. You pause, blinking at the obstacle and then at her, fear tingling up your spine. _Had you read it all wrong?_ “Not like that.” Miss Venable tilted her head, a twist of disappointment in her voice. She dropped her eyes to the floor, lifting her eyebrows as an instruction, not an expression.

Your mouth dries, and keeping your broken hand close to your body, you fall to your knees. All the air leaves your chest, and when you lift your eyes to hers, you see the nod of her head gesturing you inside.

She waits behind you as you crawl over the threshold, the sound of her cane the only thing you recognise as she shuts the door behind you, and you’re alone together.


End file.
